


Comes Hell or High Water

by Nalou



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Charles, Brotherhood of Mutants, Crossdressing, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Established Relationship, Fanart, Jealousy, M/M, Mafia AU, Pain, Protective Erik, protective Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/pseuds/Nalou
Summary: Charles and Erik have been together for a long time now. But when a greater danger comes, they don't quite have the same way of protecting each other. Disaster ensues...





	Comes Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thacmis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thacmis/gifts).



> Hey there !
> 
> This is my first participation in a Secret Mutant Exchange, and I'm so glad for the experience !  
> Thacmis, I really do hope you will like what I've made of your prompt. I tried my best for you!
> 
> I won't ever thank enough the girls who helped me. They'll recognize themselves.
> 
> English is not my first language, so feel free to pick any remaining mistake.
> 
> [THACMIS](http://thacmis.tumblr.com/) MADE AN ART FOR THIS OMFG *see below* *Someone give me my breath back thank you very much*

 

***

 

Charles wakes with a jolt. And immediately regrets it. His head is killing him, a migraine splitting his skull in two, and he all but falls back on his pillow, blinded by the pain.

 

It takes a few minutes for the headache to recede, and after a while, he manages to open his eyes again. His lashes feel crusty, the corneas dry, forcing him to blink a few times before getting his full eyesight back.

 

With his waking-up comes the pain. Everywhere, his body cringes and complains. He feels like he has been hit by a car, maybe a truck, or maybe three. He tries to breathe and _think_.

He’s on a bed, obviously, and the cotton sheets are surrounding him with a familiar, comforting smell. Erik. He’s home. He’s home and safe, but he can’t remember for the life of him what happened during the last hours. Maybe days?

Where’s Erik? Why isn’t he with him? Is he okay?

A hand landing on his wrist startles him, but he manages to turn his head to the man sitting next to him. First, he sees the paw - Blue, furred - then the rest. Hank, Hank is here, near him. Why does he seem so concerned?

“Take it slow, Charles.” the doctor says. “You’ve been badly injured, you need to rest. Nothing to worry about anymore, but it’ll take a few days before you can move normally.”

“What… What happened?” Charles asks, his voice slurred, his throat as dry as sandpaper.

Hank doesn’t answer, just turns to grab a plastic cup with a straw.

“Here, drink. It’s only water.” He brings the glass to Charles and helps him, waiting for him to gulp some of it down before continuing. “What do you remember last?”

Charles tries to breathe over the lump forming in his throat, fighting back the panic churning in his stomach.

“I… Where’s Erik? What…?”

Hank only looks at him, so he tries to remember.

 

*

 

He had left the general headquarters on Tuesday morning. Erik had sent him to meet a potential partner. As the head of the organisation, Erik had other duties keeping him from making that first trip to the Westside. That mission demanded a tactfulness his second in command, Mystique (Charles’ sister, Raven, had a fair taste in nicknames. She had everyone call him Professor, even if he wasn’t one.) sometimes lacked, better at extracting secrets and confessions than concluding deals.

His telepathy was convenient for that kind of thing. He could swipe through the arms dealer’s mind, see if he was honest and ready to sign a contract with the Brotherhood.

 

Charles wasn’t overly fond of that kind of world. Guns and drugs were, from his point of view, to be destroyed and never talked about again, leaving people to live in peace and safety. But he understood that, impossible as this dream of his was, it was important to _control_ the market. This way, he was able to limit the access, to prevent children from his beloved town from falling inside a hellish loop of want and crave. Erik sometimes made fun of him, telling him he wasn’t born in the right world; that he should have been an angel watching over him from the sky. But fate had decided otherwise the day their paths crossed. They’d been together ever since, and though Erik was technically his boss, he was fierce when trying to protect Charles, and he did it with all his heart. Even more so when negotiations started to get heated and they had to fight. But that didn’t prevent Erik from asking rather condoning things of him. Erik needed the telepath’s power to remain at the top of the mountain of flesh and blood that smeared the streets of their city thanks to the opposite clans.

Charles was the flower blooming in the middle of a garden reduced to ashes, Erik often said.

But sometimes, even the strongest flowers could take blows.

He hadn’t seen it coming, that Tuesday morning when the sun had shone brightly to fight the winter’s chill and he had been walking on the street, focused on the task at hand and the consequences of his possible failure to get this man to work for them. He usually kept his power to himself, keeping only the slightest awareness of his surroundings to prevent the thoughts of everyone he crossed path with from flooding him with its tide, unfurling his telepathy with a crash when needed. That way, people tended to underestimate him, until it was too late.

But people got wind of him, the power he owned and how he usually used it, obviously, because he was unaware of his attacker until the moment the needle had pierced his skin and the piston had been pushed. He had tried to fight back, to remove the hands pushing him to the ground, but his movements were sluggish and useless, and soon the darkness had swallowed him whole.

 

*

 

Charles gasps as the memories flood back to his sensitive brain, his hands clutching his head painfully to counteract the horror he had felt and forgotten. Hank is now trying to soothe him with a paw on his back, moving in slow circles.

“It’s okay, Charles. It’s okay. They’ve used drugs on you, and the pain you felt physically helped your brain to compartmentalize and bury them, but the memories will eventually unleash themselves without control. Better get them all out now.”

Sweat covers his whole body, making him shiver under his shirt. Now that he looks at his flesh, he sees the bluish marks smearing his arms and clutched hands, sinking under the bandages on his wrists. The rest of him is covered by the blanket, but he guesses it’s no better.

“They tried to make you talk, but you fought, hard and long enough for Lehnsherr to find you. They’re gone now.”

“Who were they?” Charles asks, his voice barely a whisper as he fights what feels like a fever.

“We don’t know. Yet. But every team is on it, don’t worry. We’ll find out soon. Er- Magneto, he’s not letting it slip untouched. He went batshit crazy when we heard you never made it to the rendezvous.”

 

*

 

Cuffs were chaffing at his skin, closed tightly against his wrists and ankles, and every time he moved in the hope of freeing one of his limbs, they cut his skin more deeply. He heard talking above him, people circling the chair maintaining him seated. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, everything was too loud and bright to think, and he hadn’t regained full consciousness yet.

The questions had rained over his dulled brain, and he had spat and swore and fought against his restraints until simple questioning wasn’t enough anymore, and they had used their fists. He had bitten his tongue at one point, flooding his mouth with blood, but otherwise never unclenched his jaws.

He had had the time to see the building he was in shake, the door in the corner of his eye fly and crush a man to let Erik enter, majestic as always, with a sheer fury on his beautiful face, before Charles lost it again.

 

*

 

Charles is crying now, salty pearls running down his chin freely, as the reality sinks in. He has been abducted to be questioned. He has been a target to bring the Brotherhood down and hit Erik directly. He has been a weakness and a burden, making Erik come to his rescue when he was so busy. He could have said incriminating things to his captors, bringing his sister, his lover, his friends to a doom they weren’t ready for. He could have…

A knock on the door saves him from yet another panic attack, and he turns his head so fast he sees stars. Has Erik come to see him? He can’t feel him, he finds out, his telepathy as bruised as his flesh. But it’s not him who comes through the threshold. It is Raven, his dear Raven, blue and proud and beautiful, and he feels like crying again. What would he have done to her, giving the time and proper torture?

She smiles at him, her expression one of utter exhaustion.

“Hi, Charles,” she sits on the bed, near his hip. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You’ve frightened me, you know? We couldn’t find you until you reached out, and even then we didn’t know what we’d find when we’d get you back. But it’s okay now, Hank has told us.”

She threads her fingers through his hair, slowly massaging his scalp as she untangles his sweaty locks.

“Where’s Erik?” he mutters, his eyes slowly closing under the ministrations.

“Still on the field. He sent me back with the order to sleep, but he won’t stop the chase. He’s mad right now. He has crushed every single one of your captors himself, it wasn’t a pleasant sight.” A pause. “He gave me this for you.”

She presents him with a letter, tucked inside its envelope. It has his sigil on the wax seal - Erik, head of the local Mafia as he was, kept some things the old-fashioned way, and sealing his mail with his signet ring was one of them.

“I’m going to crash in your guest room, if you don’t mind. Hank, you should go get some rest, you’re needed at HQ first thing in the morning.”

The Beast simply nods at Raven and takes a last look at Charles before taking his leave, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“I’ll be just upstairs Charles, should you need anything, alright?” Raven says, smiling fondly at him.

She stands up and leans to kiss his forehead before making him lie again.

He’s bone-tired anyway, and his brain demands a bit of unconsciousness to process everything that happened.

So he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep without really wanting to, clutching the letter in his trembling hands.

 

*

 

He wakes some undefined time later, the night still going on with its course if the darkness in the room is any indicator. His stomach is still a tight knot of worry, as Erik is not beside him. Trapped within his own head, he can’t _feel_ the mind he learned to tame with his love. He’s beyond worried for the man of his life.

He remembers the letter, and it’s with an unease he doesn’t know that he slowly opens it after clicking the light on the bedside table on.

The wax gives on easily enough, splitting the “E.L” pattern in two, and Charles feels anxious at the idea it gives of his lover - broken in two, dying - he can’t imagine that. He can’t let that thought take root in his mind. Erik is fine. Erik has written a letter for him, Erik will be here soon.

So he gets the sheet of paper out of its sheath and starts to read.

 

 

_Charles, my dearest,_

_Many days have come and gone since the last time we saw each other. It was supposed to be a simple meeting, the kind you are used to wrapping up in no time. Yet you never made it to the building. I don’t know who did that to you. The henchmen are all dead, rest assured, but the brain behind this attack is still unknown. But I will find them. I promise you, I will find them and I will destroy them. I won’t rest until I have their skull crushed under my fingers and their blood smearing the ground, leaving no body part big enough to recognize them. By attacking you, they attacked me. They attacked the Brotherhood. And they’ll suffer the full consequences._

_Charles, no matter how much I love and try to protect you, it’s never enough. I’ve come to realize these past few days that you’re not safe with me. I can’t let that kind of thing ever happen again. I can’t have a breach right next to me, right at the head of the organization. I can’t just stand and watch them trying to get to you again. Because if they have you, they have me, they have it all. And how can I protect you if I’m dead? I’m not good enough for you, you deserve better, someone that will truly be able to protect you, and not fail you as I did._

_You deserve so much better than me and the life I’m living, Charles. You’re not made for it, as we have seen countless times. You’re above us all, and I won’t let you rot away from what you could really be any longer. You’re made to achieve grand things, and I’m just dragging you down, through the mire of a life of blood and danger._

_It hurts much, so, so much, Charles, but it has to be done. Telling you that I don’t love you anymore would be lying. If anything else, it’s by loving you that I get to go so far. Selfishly, I’d keep you by my side, if you would still have me. I want you to understand why I have to sacrifice what we have, for your life._

_You will not go back to HQ. A team is packing as we speak, and we’ll have disappeared by the time you read this letter._

_You will not try to seek me out. Emma Frost has joined my side and given me an artifact. It will protect me from any psionics, including you._

_You will not ask Mystique for any kind of information. She hasn’t any. For now._

_And you won’t see me ever again. I promise._

_I hope you will one day find the strength to forgive me. I for one won’t._

_I love you dearly._

_Erik._

 

*

 

Charles can’t seem to be able to breathe after that.

Crazy how emotional he can be, sometimes.

Crying, and fighting for his breath, that’s all he’s been doing since he got back from whatever the hell it was.

At least it prevents him from thinking about… about…

_Oh god_. What did Erik do? It’s a prank, right? He’s coming back, he’s going to open the front door and laugh at Charles, right? He’s not leaving him, he’s not forbidding Charles to see him, he’s not… Where’s the novel he always keeps on his bedside table? The little statuette of a jogger Charles gave him two years ago for his birthday as a joke but that Erik cherished anyway?

And… And, the door to his wardrobe is slightly ajar, Charles can see it now that he knows what to look for, and the hangers… The hangers are all empty, ridden of the impeccable suits and dark turtlenecks.

That can’t be true. Charles can’t believe it. Now, the pit he feels in his heart is filling to the brim with anger. True, destructive fury that has him on his feet quickly. He’s swaying, his body not ready for it, but the adrenaline is driving him, and he soon finds himself in front of the desk Erik keeps at the other end of their bedroom.

He violently opens the different drawers, almost pulling them out of their rails, and the old wood rattles against the floor under his assault on the furniture.

But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing anymore.

He slams the drawers shut before sinking to his knees, trembling.

Sobs constrict his throat, and he soon finds himself on the verge of retching, losing his balance and catching himself up on his hands, hitting them on the cold tiles in front of him. He wheezes painfully, tries to get his legs under him to get up and leave, but they don’t respond, the muscles rigid.

Finally, painfully, he manages to cry, to pour in his scream all the agony he feels, surrendering to the sensation of abandon Erik has left, ash on his tongue and bile in his throat.

 

***

 

Erik has barely slept since the day Charles went missing. The sheer horror of losing him he felt that day has kept him pumped to the brim with adrenaline and the need for revenge, and he embraces it as he keeps digging again and again in the depth of their underworld.

 

Erik has had to use the emergency plan as soon as his telepath was abducted. He knew deep inside him that Charles would never betray him or his organization, but without him, he was nonetheless weakened. So he ordered his generals to ready themselves for a move-out and an impending attack.

He had called for Emma Frost, the telepath who worked in his management team.

The woman was way less powerful than Charles, but what she lacked in control and width, she countered with fierceness and not an ounce of regret for questioning.

Blond, always dressed in white, she stroke a dashing figure. She had been in the Brotherhood for long enough that he didn’t doubt her motives – yes, she wanted to climb the ladder, take his place the day he showed any weakness, but was invested enough to follow his orders until her day came. As a token of her sincerity, she had brought him a helmet supposed to block any psionic intrusion. The thing was ugly, truly, cutting his face in half by masking almost completely his cheeks. But it seemed to work, as he saw Emma sneer – but maybe it was only from seeing it.

Since then, she hasn’t left his side, following him in all the rubble and destruction he has provoked, interrogating survivors before shutting them down with a bat of her painted lashes.

Information is scarce, the mutants and humans barely footmen, but an image is slowly drawing itself from the smoke of the aftermath.

And Erik doesn’t like it.

At all.

 

The name is completely unknown to him: announcing a man from another country altogether. And Erik would have preferred it stayed that way. A man who, it would seem, has decided to expand his territory to the entire world, decimating mafias and yakuzas and gangs wherever he goes. Erik has heard of him rather lately, a powerful mutant who doesn’t bother keeping hostages or making alliances.

 

Sebastian Shaw, the name is.

 

And he has come for Erik.

 

*

 

The next few days pass in a blur. It’s always the same things. Waking up from a few hours of restless sleep in his new office. Gulping down the coffee Emma brings him. Listening to what she has learnt and what his generals report on the situation. Getting out, finding someone who works for Shaw, asking them questions and killing them. Sometimes, he’s glad Charles is not here to see that. But more often than not he’s missing him painfully. But it’s better this way. His lover won’t be here to see Erik bring Shaw down, because there’s no way it’s going to end up prettily.

Every end of day, he meets again with the most important men and women of the Brotherhood. With that crisis come problems. Their buyers are nowhere to be seen, probably too afraid to make deals with an organization that might disappear, putting them in an economic crisis as well as a political one. Small gangs form and try to get as big a piece of the city’s cake as they can. What they don’t know is that they don’t stand a single chance against him. So against a man like Shaw? That’s proper suicide.

He barely takes time to eat. He isn’t hungry, anyway. And when he finally lies down on the uncomfortable sofa in his office, he just thinks about Charles. He won’t see him ever again, and that pains him much more than anything else. His sweet, sweet Charles who would always be able to help him prepare, see points that don’t seem evident to Erik because he doesn’t have his pure heart to understand it.

He doesn’t take the helmet off. Never. He can’t let Charles or Emma in his head right now.

So sleep rips him from his consciousness when dawn is just a few moments from rising.

 

*

 

It’s just another day when it happens.

He’s exiting a newly destroyed building with Emma at his side when he spots him across the street. It’s full of people gathering before the smoking ruins, but he couldn’t miss him even in the thickest crowd, no matter the place, no matter the time, Erik would see him. Charles is standing on the sidewalk opposite him, his chest heaving as if he had run as fast as he could to get there.

Their eyes meet, his beautiful baby-blues locking into Erik’s, Charles’ face contorting when he finally gets a sight of him above the crowd separating them. Not liking what he sees, then? But Erik, for one, is glad to see him, despite the fact that Charles shouldn’t be here. To see him alive and well lifts a little chunk of the oppressive weight Erik bears on his shoulders.

 

But then Emma is putting a hand on his elbow, so he slightly turns his head to listen to her while not letting his eyes leave the man who sets his heart on a greater path every day. Or used to, should he say.

“Time to go, sugar. Police are nearby, we should leave before they get here. Your pet will go back from where he’s come.”

But just after her statement, he hears Emma let a gasp out, and he turns to see her clutching her head. It doesn’t take him long to understand what’s going on, so he turns back to Charles, who has a foot on the road, ready to tear through the mass of gawkers to get to them, and Erik does something he thought would never happen.

 

He extends his arm, opening his hand to feel for metal buttons and coins on Charles’ clothes, and _yanks_.

 

Erik sees Charles’ head hitting the wall harder than the rest of his body when Charles topples back on the sidewalk and to the building behind him.

He just takes the time to confirm that Charles is still conscious and doesn't require medical attention before grabbing Emma’s upper arm and tugging her to the nearest side street. “Let’s go.”

 

*

 

Erik is upset. Truly crossed. He has never seen Charles attack someone, especially someone who didn’t do anything to harm him. Really, what did he think? That hurting Emma would lead Erik to take him back? Or that he, at least, wouldn’t react at all and let them do what they want with each other?

No matter how much he loves Charles, he couldn’t forgive him if he hurt another member of the Brotherhood. This is so unlike the man he knows that he can’t really believe what he witnessed earlier. He can’t believe that he himself hurt Charles, either. Erik feels betrayed, but at the same time as if he betrayed his lover – _ex_ -lover – too. Well, once again, actually. Writing the letter broke him into so many pieces he’s sure he won’t ever be whole again. Imagining Charles reading it kept the air out of his lungs for hours on end. But his resolve holds on.

 

*

 

It’s with a new determination that Erik gets up this morning. Shaw has given him an ultimatum – an appointment, just for them – in a disused building. He sees the irony of always ending in buildings, when what is at stake are the streets of his beloved city.

 

Everything will end soon. He gets his generals in a last-minute meeting to discuss tactics and the aftermath, never mind the outcome. Mystique is missing, but he can’t have her near him right now. She’s too close to Charles, and he can’t risk him to be alerted. She’ll be able to protect her brother if she stays with him. McCoy looks so pale his fur almost looks human-coloured, but he nods when given his orders and that’s enough for Erik.

 

He’ll breach the building with Emma, and other teams will wait for his signal if he needs. But it’s a rendezvous that has to be honoured personally.

Everything is set, and so is Erik’s jaw. Because this day will see its shadow masters fight for the throne. And it won’t be pretty.

 

*

 

The first door – just plain iron – doesn’t even oppose resistance to Erik’s power, and he chucks it out of its hinges without even a quirked eyebrow. Emma follows, careful not to walk on anything that could stain her designer shoes. The old warehouse seems to have held yet another chemical industry, and a few barrels are still in the entryway, gnawed at by the acid they hold. Erik and Emma take a few moments to observe their surroundings, wary of any sign of their common enemy. But Erik doesn’t have the time to react when a twirl of red sulphur appears between them in a crashing sound and a squeak from Emma, dampening his eyes with the stink, and the next second, he’s all alone.

 

*

 

Not a word, not even a sound. Only his footsteps as Erik turns on himself a few times to find the blond telepath. He can’t feel anything but the metal cladding of the building and its components. So he takes a step further, and then another, focused on his feeling of the element that composes his whole life, that answers to him as a transparent limb. He can feel the change in heat from afar, guiding him to a flight of stairs. Shaw is over there. Charles’ freedom and safety are over there. Erik can’t possibly let that man win. And he won’t.

 

His major problem is that he doesn’t really know the extent of Shaw’s mutation. Frost was supposed to get that information for him. But Erik has seldom seen a mutant who could match him by force and be strong enough to resist his attacks. So Erik doesn’t fear the unknown.

 

He steps into the last room, at the top of the building, and –

 

Maybe he should have.

 

*

 

Frost is fine. Fuck, she’s more than fine, actually, as she stands a mere ten meters away from him. On her feet, a hand tucked into the crook of the left elbow from the man standing next to her. Her face is smug, victorious, even. Oh, Erik would love to rip that look off her, as comprehension dawns on him.

 

Just behind the couple stand two other guys, one red-skinned – the teleporter he had a glimpse of earlier – and another one, pale and closed-faced.

 

The man next to Emma takes a step onwards, letting her hand fall as he extends his arm towards Erik. She resumes her signature pose, the one Erik saw her take so many times in the last days. A hand on her hip and all her weight on one leg, and a bored moue on her pretty face. _Fucking bitch_.

 

“Hello, Erik. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Sebastian.” His smile trickles from his face, full of venom, but his eyes as dead as a fish’s.

 

Without any answer from Erik, he continues, seeming delighted. “I know you’ve met my dear Emma already, isn’t she gorgeous? And Azazel and Janos, over there, are helping me, too. Oh but I insist, Erik, we _must_ shake hands, as proper competitors.” As he says that, his voice dripping poisoned honey, he takes Erik’s hand in his, lifting it from his side. Shaw’s palm is cold and dry, making Erik react with a wave of disgust.

 

“There, you see?” Shaw continues. “That’s not complicated! Now, I hear you were wondering what my powers were? So sweet of you, my boy.”

 

“I’m not your _boy_ , Shaw, now let go of me!” Erik roars, tugging at the man’s grip. But it doesn’t even make him move. His heartbeat increasing, Erik makes the beams from the ceiling resonate, the metal slowly clinking as it tugs from its seals. “ _Let. Go_!”

 

“Oh, dear child… Tell me, does your power expand when you’re angry? Or afraid? I’m sure I could make you reach your full potential, if only you could give in to me… Maybe like this –”

 

As he speaks, Shaw lands his other hand over their joined ones, and slowly, like a feather, his digits caress the back of Erik’s hand.

 

Shaw finally lets go of him, and Erik hurriedly steps back, clutching at his wrist as he feels the blood pumping in his hand, the pain throbbing from the point where he obviously broke a bone.

 

Shaw’s face is more serious now, his head leaning to one side as if he was observing a nice but resisting experiment. “Maybe _discomfort_ would be the key…”

 

Erik reacts out of sheer fear and pain, primary instincts taking control of his power. His mind reaps whole slabs from the factory’s ceiling, making them fly all over the place. The beams shake harder than before. But then he manages to take the control back. To push the destructive feelings back and lock them in his mind. Rage and Serenity, as Charles has taught him. This is for Charles. He can’t let himself be overwhelmed by his old habits, and that sadistic man won’t have him again. Shaw seems to be of a greater force, capable of breaking a bone without even sweating. Well, he won’t let Shaw touch him again, then, and he’ll raid him with every scrap of metal in the city if need be.

Erik concentrates on one of the metal sheets. Shapes it. Sees movement in his peripheral vision, and, before he can fully react, is hit by a wind so strong he falls back to the wall near the entrance, knocking his breath away. Those damn sidekicks won’t let him alone, and if Shaw needs help to fight him, really –

He has to jump to the side to avoid another attack coming from the silent guy, but Erik reacts quickly, folding a beam to hit the guy right on the head, knocking him unconscious. This will have to do for now, as Shaw doesn’t let him breathe, circling almost at arm’s length around him. He looks so sufficient it makes Erik want to reel back– he’s a predator playing with its food, no more. Way more.

A quick look behind him. Emma is looking at her fingernails, clearly bored. The teleporter doesn’t seem to give him any attention, crouched over his partner’s limp body.

 

“I’ll have to take that back, you know.” Shaw breaks the silence, pointing at Erik’s head. “The helmet. I hope you liked my _gift_ , because you’re the only one I lent it to. Dear Emma here is a sweetheart, but I’ve heard of another _telepath_ in the city that might not enjoy my taking over the commands. But I’m sure you know who I’m referring to, right?”

 

And now that Shaw is so close, he doesn’t see the pike Erik is flying in their direction. Erik starts to smile, but it falters so quickly after he sees his work hit Shaw’s back and fall on the ground behind him, useless, as if it had been stopped by an invisible wall surrounding the mutant.

 

“Well, at least you tried.”

 

Shaw seems almost sorry as he takes the last step between them. Erik’s body doesn’t answer to him anymore, rigid, unmoving despite the blaring alarm in his mind. Everything is so slow, Shaw lifting his arm to seize the helmet on Erik’s head and gently removing it as it weighed nothing, freeing him from this prison that got him away from everyone. Allowing Emma to have a go with his mind.

 

_Charles._

_I’m sorry._

 

***

 

 

Charles feels the call as a knife tearing through the soft fabric of his mind. He’s so relieved to hear from Erik again, after days on end of sheer silence, but the fatality of it freezes his blood. Erik is bidding him farewell, and as their mind connect again with the easiness of years together, feelings reach him. Erik’s pain. Erik’s fear. Erik’s bottomless love for him. The call of his name in a devastating loop. So Charles hastens his run. He reaches for Erik. Holds him in a tight, psychic embrace. His lover doesn’t even acknowledge him, lost in pain after another hit from Shaw.

 

Charles places two fingers on his temple. Casts his mind out. Feels. The blond viper is here. As is a teleporter, his mind as slippery as soap. He concentrates on him first to cut their retreat. He’s a bit rusty, but taking control of the Russian’s mind and putting him to sleep is no hard work.

He’s close, he’s almost there, he’s going to save Erik –

 

But she’s blocking him, putting a diamond coat over his vision – he shakes her out rather quickly.

For the first time in his life, Charles feels a hatred so fierce he wants to see her fall from himself, to shatter her mind in pieces so tiny she won’t ever be able to reconstruct the puzzle.

 

Of course, he’s seen what her plan had been all along as soon as their minds touched. And he hates himself so much for not seeing it earlier. Damn his resolution to keep his power to himself. Damn his morals, damn his fear of not being accepted. This is all his fault.

She stumbles but regains her footing rather quickly; sending the same kind of attack she did the last time they saw each other, but by then he didn’t know... Frost certainly has taken advantage of his internal crisis for so long. But it’s time for it to end.

 

It’s time for Charles to change.

 

*

 

When he finally arrives at the top of the factory – really, could that Shaw be more cliché? – The roof is torn apart, parts of the ceiling dangling aimlessly, pointing to the trashed floor. Two people are lying down in one far corner – the teleporter and another one, both unconscious. Then Charles spots Emma, pristine as always, standing in the centre of the room without even one hair out of place. How she managed that while the entire place was destroyed is a mystery, but not one Charles is ready to acknowledge. He then spots the man responsible for all of this, on his left. Shaw is wearing the monstrous thing Charles had seen on Erik’s head a few days ago, hiding most of his rat-like face, but not his eyes. Not his gleaming, horrendous eyes watching him enter. And Charles can’t reach him, his mind constantly bumping against the metal of the helmet, just as it did when he had tried to speak to Erik.

And finally, finally, he spots his lover. Stops walking.

Erik is lying against the wall directly on his left.

He doesn’t move.

_Oh god_.

 

Charles takes a step to him, but Shaw just _tuts_ , making him jump.

 

“We haven’t been introduced yet, M. Xavier.” The man starts, his voice sugary. Disgusting.

 

“I don’t want to.” Charles retorts, keeping his eyes on Erik. He sees his chest rising and falling, good, that’s – good.

 

He hears the sadist laugh, the sound reverberating in his ears and sending a shiver down his spine. “Never mind,” Shaw starts again, “I know already so much about you, thanks to my dear Emma. I’m impressed you stayed in the _Brotherhood_ for so long. The things you do for love…” Shaw sighs and turns to look at Emma, still poised and unmoving. The name of Erik’s organization is spat, as if it was something to laugh at, and not a well-oiled firm, hold with an iron hand and a purposeful mind.

“Let me tell you what I think, Charles. Your _Magneto_ has taken his place too much for granted and has let you soften him. And _you_ … you need to stop being cuddled. This is the big bad world, _Charles_ , and you won’t be able to preach for peace and love any longer. I’ll break you and use you as my pet telepath, oh I promise you… It will be so much fun!”

“You’re sick.” Charles can’t stop himself from spitting. “Sick and disgusting. If you think I’ll let you do any of this… You’re even more insane than I first thought.”

 

Erik stirs, barely showing signs of renewed consciousness, stopping Charles from continuing this useless conversation. He darts to his lover’s side, checking his pulse at his neck as he kneels. His right hand seems to be crushed, and his leg lies at a weird angle beneath him. Erik’s beautiful grey eyes flutter open, immediately fixing on him.

“Charles…”

“Shhh… It’ll be okay, I’m going to get you out of here, love.” He whispers, soothing him, stroking his hair.

“I can’t… I need to…” He hisses in pain as he tries to straighten up. “You shouldn’t be here, Charles.”

“Well well…” Shaw interrupts. Now that you’re back, we might get to move forward a little, if you don’t mind. Emma dear,” She comes to their opponent’s side. “Finish Magneto. We don’t need him anymore.”

“No!” Charles shoots, and he moves faster than her, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he reaches inside her own mind, piercing through all the defences she tries to maintain like thin air. _That’s enough_ , his mind screams in hers. _You won’t ever do any harm again_. He feels her struggling against his invasion, slowly understanding that what she did to others all her life without a hint of compassion, she’s going to have it thrown back at her.

Charles’ kindness is gone. He flips through all her memories, learns about people she has convinced to follow her, about the breaches they’ll have to fix later, Erik and him, together.

Emma tries to claw at his soul, tries to hurt him as he gets closer to her core, but it’s useless. He finds what he was looking for, grips it, and _tugs_.

 

*

 

He comes back to himself barely a second after they started fighting inside her mind. Charles sees her fall like a puppet with cut strings, her body lying limp next to Shaw. The man is quick to react, landing the back of his hand on the side of Charles’ face.

The blow sends him crashing to the floor, his body slipping a few meters. He feels the blood rushing in his mouth where his lip split open.

“Consider yourself lucky, Xavier, that I need you more than before now, or I would have put a little more force in it. She was useful, even if she was nothing compared to you. I liked her obedience. You need to be taught a lesson, right now.”

 

There’s no more smile on his face, no more amusement in his voice.

 

Shaw lurches forwards and grabs Erik by the neck, forcing him to stand heavily on one leg. Erik’s face is contorted with pain, his left hand clutching at Shaw as he tries to free himself. The game is over, Charles realizes, and Shaw will have nothing to lose. His helmet still on his head, Shaw is untouchable. So Charles dives in Erik’s mind, finding the pain centre in his brain to shut it down to the minimum, just enough to keep him aware of his leg.

He feels Erik take a deep breath, as if he had been holding it so far, struggling underwater. Relieved from the excruciating pain, Erik is able to rein his power back, and Charles watches him from the floor as he smiles harshly at Shaw.

“There’s a difference between plain obedience and partnership, Shaw. You’re out.” Erik says, composed.

“Never!” Shaw hisses. “You’re nothing compared to me, just a small ant I need to crush with the heel of my boot, do you understand me, _boy_? You can’t touch me!”

“No.” Erik answers, voice calm and deadly. “I certainly can’t, I’ve understood that.”

A pause, where the two leaders just stare at each other, their eyes full of hate.

“But Charles can.”

 

And then the helmet goes flying in the room, lifted by two metal hooks Erik managed to create from a beam while they were face to face. Shaw turns, surprise clear on his face as he tries to reach for it. But it’s too far away already, passing through the hole in the ceiling to disappear from their view.

Charles doesn’t waste any second to plunge inside Shaw’s head.

 

*

 

And what a mind it is. Thousands of sharp thorns protect his thoughts, forcing Charles to pass carefully around them, losing time as Shaw retreats to the deepest of his mind in a last attempt to get out of this situation.

But Charles is persistent, and he follows him, avoiding the most of his memories to keep himself from falling inside so much abhorrence. The man is rotten, disgusting. Charles can’t help but see people Shaw has wronged in the past, and it steels his resolve, giving him further strength. As he gets closer, Shaw wrestles harder, but Charles shoves him to get access to his power. Without it, he won’t ever be able to hurt anyone, and as sick as it makes Charles feel to remove the essence of what makes this mutant, he understands too well the danger he represents. He would never be contained or restrained, his power too perfect to escape. Better make him a plain man.

So he shuts it down.

 

*

 

As soon as Charles comes back to himself, he throws up.

He’s trembling, his arms barely supporting his upper body as he tries to sit, so he just lets himself fall to the side. He’s crying. Today, he’s done so many things he never thought he’d have to.

He sees the two men still face to face, and then Erik lifting his left fist to punch hard on Shaw’s face, landing him on the floor before falling back against the wall and slipping down to the ground. Charles’ grip on him must slip, because he sees him seething in pain again. He finds the strength to gather his legs under him and push to get closer, their hands finally tightening around each other.

 

They’re free. They’re safe. They’re going to be okay.

 

*

 

Charles is pacing in his bedroom. It’s been days since he has last seen Erik.

He had called Raven after he had regained his breath, who had helped him to put Erik in an ambulance and drop Shaw and his minions to the Summers brothers.

Since then he’s had to deal with the corrupted members of the Brotherhood, without refraining from using his power, this time. It had to be done if they wanted to keep going.

But he hadn’t been able to see Erik, and it was gnawing at him harder than any acid.

 

As the law ensures it, the city hospital is protected against mutation. There’s a barrier that sets mutant powers aside as soon as it is crossed, preventing any injured or sick mutant to hurt their carers while weakened, as it happened a few times before. Explosions, cuts, radiations are avoided like this.

There had been a great fight a few years back when humans had put that act on the table, but mutants themselves had understood the worth of such a protection. But they made sure that it was only applied to health facilities.

 

But right now, it blocks Charles from going to the hospital to see his lover. Only a married one would have access to a patient. Meaning a wife. Something he clearly is not.

Meaning he’s waiting for Raven to get him supplies that would finally allow him to see Erik and know if he’s okay. He can’t even reach him with that bloody barrier.

When she arrives, she gets a blond wig out of her bag, followed by a long dress and some make-up.

Charles has clean-shaved, and he lets his sister help him get dressed in the garment, tightening the laces on his back, and apply lipstick and eyeshadow to his face.

When she’s done, he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. Blond strands frame his feminine face, his lips redder than usual, and his blue eyes shining under the black powder.

 

*

 

It’s surprisingly easy from there on. He plays with his voice when he asks the receptionist for Erik Lehnsherr’s room, convincing enough for her to give him what he wants. His Adam apple is hidden under a scarf, and the flat plains of his chest are covered by a coat. The long dress covers his shoes, and he doesn’t look any of the doctors in the eye while he crosses the hallways.

 

It’s a few minutes since he arrived in front of the room 359, but he can’t go inside.

What if Erik doesn’t want to see him? He had broken up with Charles.

What if…

Not listening to his worried side, he lowers the handle and slips through the gap before closing the door behind him.

Erik is in a private room – thank god – his bed at ninety degrees from the door. He’s waking up to the sound and slowly turns his head to him.

“Charles?...” His voice is weak with sleep and disuse, but Charles is so relieved to hear it, he can’t help a small whimper. “Is that you?”

“Yes, yes Erik.” Charles takes three long strides to get to Erik’s side and take his left hand in his. “I’m here.”

“You’re beautiful.” Erik murmurs, and Charles laughs.

There’s still a drip going to the crook of his elbow, and his right hand and leg are in casts.

Charles caresses Erik’s hair, his fingers trailing to the ginger beard that has grown on his face. He wants to weep with the happiness of touching him again.

“You only say that because I’m dressed as a woman.”

“No. you’re the most gorgeous man I know. The bravest.” Erik’s speech is slightly slurred, because of the medication, Charles thinks.

“I’ve missed you, Erik.”

“Me too.” Erik closes his eyes, slightly pushing against the hand petting his face, like a cat.

“You have to promise me to never do that again.”

The grey orbs appear again, and his eyes are more focused now. Charles speaks again after a short pause to admire him, “Erik, I… I thought I’d lost you, twice, do you understand? You shouldn’t have made this decision for me.”

“I wanted to protect you, Charles. You were not safe with me.”

“And you weren’t either.” Charles cuts in. “We are a team, you and I. Yes, I despise violence. Yes, I’ll ever stay a pacifist. But don’t you think I know how the world works? Give me some credit, Erik. I wouldn’t have stayed by your side for so long if I didn’t think I could stomach it. So I won’t suffer any more sacrifice from you, do you hear me?” His voice cracks at this point, and Erik caresses his left hand with his thumb where they sit together on the bed.

“I love you and I thought I’d lost you and I couldn’t bear it!” okay, he’s crying now. Erik tries to straighten up, but Charles puts his free hand on his shoulder to stop him before wiping his cheeks.

He takes a deep breath and stands taller, reining his feelings. He has one more question to ask.

“Did you sleep with Frost?”

Erik’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. “Of course not, why would you think that?” he has the taste to look outraged, and it releases a great tension that coiled Charles’ insides tightly since the day he saw him exit that damn building.

“That’s what she sent me when I first saw you together. Images of you two in various incriminating positions.” His throat is still constricted.

“Is this why you attacked her?”

“Yes, before you _interrupted_ me.”

Erik looks pained, as if physically hit. He frees his hand from Charles to slowly land his palm on Charles’ cheek. It’s hot and so comforting, the gesture well known.

“I’m so sorry, I thought…” Erik tries to find his words.

“Yeah…” Charles finishes, “That I attacked her for no reason. Or more exactly, because she was with you and I wasn’t. I see that now. But even then I didn’t scan her mind. Maybe I should have… I was too disgusted by what she made me see. I couldn’t believe it, and I didn’t _think_.”

There’s a silence, when they just take the time to look at each other.

Erik is the first to break it.

“You know, you look really dashing with make-up, maybe you should wear some, sometimes.”

But he smiles, his true, honest smile which shows almost all his teeth, and Charles has to playfully hit his shoulder, trying not to laugh.

“We’ll discuss it when you get out of here, maybe.”

 

They sober up, and their eyes meet once again, lost in the contemplation. In a few days, Erik will be able to get out of the hospital, and he’ll be back with Charles, and they’ll continue their partnership, stronger than ever.

 

But for now, as Erik’s thumb caresses his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his painted mouth, Charles can only do but one thing.

 

Leaning down and kiss the love of his life.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, liked, disliked, hated (choose one of the words) what you've just read, please help me get better with a comment!
> 
> Thank you for coming here!


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